Needed some but now not,
My drug of choice we know to be pot,
Keeping it burning oh so hot,
A spoon, a pan, out of a gun shot…
Blasted by plastique,
Wrapped & destroyed,
Can’t smoke nor snort it,
Smells as though made with shit…
The poppy does grow,
This we all know,
In heated climes,
Sent to this place to commit crimes,
Herein used to permeate rhymes…
© ed J 3/12/07
Love Tinky
Keep burning whatever you are burning if it helps to write with such panache.
Georg
Love,
CJ
Must be the impact of the first stansa - David Peel's busking never had this effect on me - trust you, Ed!
Regards
Dai
Have a great evening Ed.......